


Wingardium

by tanyart



Series: Like Pillars Four [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond tutors his brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wingardium

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like Pillars Four](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/11750) by Endy. 



Desmond is lying on his bed with his nose stuck in an old issue of Blue Beetle when Altair stomps into his dormitory, effectively scaring Desmond’s roommates away with a single look. His older brother doesn’t speak until the last of the first years scramble out. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Altair snatches the comic book from Desmond, looking at the pictures and no doubt wondering why they aren’t moving.

“What’s this?” he asks, taking a seat on top of Desmond’s legs.

  
Squirming away, Desmond sits up and folds his arms across his chest. He gives Altair his best glare. “It’s a muggle comic. Shaun let me borrow it.”

Altair cants his head, and he takes another look at the comic before he sets it down on the bed with excessive care, treating it like a breakable antique. Desmond doesn’t have the heart to tell him that not all muggle things are delicate, but he thinks Altair might still be embarrassed about the time he helped Rebecca find her ipod by using a summoning charm and consequently making it smash through walls and, somehow, go under the lake. The iPod came back in pieces, much to Rebecca’s immediate and long-lasting distress, so it was lucky that Ezio was handy with the repair charm.

“What’s it about?” Altair asks.

He’s stalling. Desmond can recognize the signs, because Altair is  _never_  interested in the same things Desmond is, but most of the time Desmond is fine with that. What matters now is that Altair wants something from him that isn’t a quill or extra parchment or anything else that’s easily acquired (or stolen, in some cases).

“It’s about a boy who gets superpowers from aliens,” Desmond says, short and sweet, since Altair looks like he’s tuned out already. He leans forward, unable to wipe the eager expression from his face. Altair rarely needs anyone’s help, and as much as Desmond tells himself that he doesn’t care that he might not ever be as talented or special ashis brothers, it still doesn’t change how he likes that, sometimes, his older brothers need him too. “What’s wrong?”

Altair stiffens, and says, firmly, “Nothing’s wrong. What are your grades in Potions?”

For a moment, Desmond freezes up, even though he knows that he’s doing fine in all his classes – especially in Muggle Studies  _and_  Potions. He thinks back to any recent exams, but he has gotten good marks on all of them, too, though they were probably not as good as Altair’s own scores as a first year. He wilts a little, not wanting to have another argument about  _trying harder_  or  _living up_  to certain expectations.

“I’m doing good,” he says, and then his voice picks up, this time out of annoyance. He doesn’t brag often, but there always seems to be an exception with Altair, whose most fluent language is pretty much bragging. “Great, actually. Professor Malfatto says I have the highest marks in my class.”

Altair pauses, and maybe there’s a hint of a smile in his eyes, something akin to being proud. And then it disappears and he says, matter-of-fact, “I knew that.”

Desmond stares, and feels that he needs to yell a little in frustration. “Then why did you ask! God, it’s like pulling  _teeth_ —” and he’s not quite sure what he means by that, but he’s heard Shaun say it, something about muggles called dentists, and it seems appropriate. “—what do you  _want_?”

“I don’t want anything,” Altair replies, unruffled. “But you’re going to help me with Potions. I have a test next week and Malik is being annoying.”

Desmond opens his mouth. Then closes it, not really getting how Malik comes into play, but it really isn’t his business. And that gives Altair enough time to interrupt.

“I’ll help you with flying lessons in return,” he says grandly, like it’s the highest of honors and that Desmond should be the luckiest person in the world.

“Ezio’s already helping me out with that,” Desmond says, and shuts his mouth a little too late.

Altair falls silent and seems to be at a loss for what to say or do. He leaps from the bed, looking incredulous. “What,” he says eloquently. “But I’m on the Quidditch team. I’m the captain. I can fly circles around Ezio. And you asked  _him_  to help you?”

“But,” Desmond begins, a little meekly. If he wanted to be the best, he would’ve asked Altair—but he doesn’t. All he wants is to be able to keep balance on his broom and not look like a total idiot. He also doesn’t want to say that Ezio wouldn’t yell at  _him_  for sitting on the broom wrong, or complain that he isn’t fast enough, or make him fly laps around the whole school by himself until it got dark, or tell him to be a man and suck it up if he falls from a height of twenty feet and starts crying.

“Okay, that  _one_  time you fell, I didn’t know your arm was broken,” Altair says, “It wouldn’t have happened if you had just rolled and landed on your feet.”

“It was broken in three places,” Desmond says flatly. “And you kept telling me to walk it off.”

“To be fair, nothing was wrong with your legs.”

“Altair, please get out of my room.”

“So you’ll help me,” Altair finishes, clinching the deal they haven’t technically made yet.

Desmond sighs, and since he can’t really do anything else, he nods and lets Altair stride out the room without even thanking him.

\--

Desmond becomes a little mollified when Altair shows up for his first tutoring lesson –or ‘review session’, as Altair insists on calling it, when he has to mention it at all—with a bagful of sweets from his last trip to Hogsmeade. Desmond lights up at the sight of multicolored bubblegum balls and chocolate frogs and takes the bag immediately, setting it aside.

“You can eat one, you know,” Altair says, and if Desmond had been paying more attention, he would have picked up on the almost-hurt tone Altair takes. (Gumballs and chocolate frogs  _are_  Desmond's favorite, Altair knows, unless it has changed-- it's been a while since Altair had asked.)

Instead, Desmond stares at Altair in mute disbelief and makes a face. “Altair, we can’t eat in a Potion’s classroom. How could you not know that-”

“ _Professors_ are the ones who tell you to not eat in class,” Altair corrects. He waves to the empty classroom in general. “There are no professors here. Now give me a gumball.”

With a small flick of his wand, Desmond makes the bag float to a high shelf in the corner of the room. His hover charm is not perfect, and the bag wavers, bumping into the wall, and slumps partway, dropping two boxes of chocolate frogs to the floor. He frowns, but turns to Altair.

“No,” he says, “I’m the professor today and I’m telling you that you can’t eat.”

He expects Altair to yell at him or simply take the bag back with his perfectly casted hover charm, but Altair reaches out, correcting Desmond grip on his wand. They go through the motions twice before Altair lets go and watches Desmond recast the hover charm on his own to put the last two chocolate frogs back in the bag.

The boxed frogs drop inside without a fuss, and Desmond lowers his arm.

“Ready to get started,  _professor_?” Altair asks, mocking, but he’s getting out the supplies and not trying to eat their candy, so Desmond grins.

“Yeah!” he says, and hurries to help Altair out.

 

It turns out that Altair only needs to review the basics, having improvised the techniques the first time around. With the easy potions, his makeshift skills had been forgivable, but it seems that Altair was paying the price in face of the more difficult brews that required exact measurements and cuts. Desmond shows him again and again on the proper way to slice up roots and stir a bubbling cauldron without splashing. Altair is all too impatient most of the time, but he improves, bit by bit.

Of course, the specific potions Altair makes is still beyond Desmond capabilities, but he can at least tell Altair  _why_  his cauldron is literally  _screaming_  at them instead of merrily humming.

“I bet you just _threw_ the eagle feathers in there, didn’t you?” Desmond shouts over the shrieking.

“There’s a difference?” Altair replies, waving a silencing charm over the pot. Even then, the screaming is still audible, as though there was only a thin wall blocking it.

“What part of ‘float’ was unclear to you?” Desmond asks, checking the textbook.

“ _Details_ ,” Altair huffs.

Desmond wants to put his head in his hands, but he sees Altair scribble down a note, marking that particular direction. It’s not a lost cause, and Desmond’s hands are covered in tree sap anyway.

Altair is about to dump the potion to start a new one when Ezio knocks on the door and comes in without waiting for an answer. He smiles at the both of them, but his smile becomes a little fixed when he looks at the softly screaming disaster potion.

“You didn’t float the feathers, huh,” he comments, and doesn’t give Altair the chance to make a retort before he shrugs. “I made the same mistake on one of my other potions. For some reason, not floating the eagle feathers always makes them scream.”

He sits down on the table across from them and sets his modest stack of books next to him. Ezio looks a little out of breath and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing what looks like smudges of lipstick down his neck. Desmond doesn’t say anything about it, lest Ezio starts telling them about his frequent visits to the back room of some class with Cristina, which is really gross, despite Ezio's assurances that Desmond would probably want to try sometime later too.

“Oh,” Desmond says, looking at the clock on the far wall. “I didn’t notice what time it was. Sorry.”

Ezio grins. “Don’t worry about it. I knew you were going to be here, so I thought it’d be easier if I came to you instead.”

Altair puts down his book, more suspicious than curious. “What going on?”

“Desmond’s helping me study Transfiguration,” Ezio replies, opening up one of his books. He glances at Desmond’s hands and pulls out his wand, gesturing for Desmond to hold them out. Desmond does, and the sticky tree sap turns to water to be wiped off with a towel.

Altair’s expression turns exasperated. “Why didn’t you ask me to help? Desmond’s a first-year. What more could he possibly know besides first-year stuff?”

For all his flights of fancy, Ezio is a remarkably good student, if not always studious. Desmond supposes he can afford to not study all the time, given the relative ease he has with his classes and good relations with nearly all his professors. Still, even a person like Ezio needs the extra help from time to time, and unlike Altair, he has no problem seeking out assistance when he needs it.

“Well, if I study with Leo, he tends to get all technical and distracted. That guy’s a genius and half the time I have no clue what he’s saying. And I’ve tried studying with Cristina, but…” Ezio trails off with a leer, “It didn’t exactly work out. Distractions, you know.”

“And so the next best thing was Desmond?” Altair scoffs.

“Hey,” Desmond says, though he sort of understands what Altair meant, being Altair. It wasn’t a cut on him. Not really. “Ezio just gives me his book and I make questions out of some of the paragraphs. Sometimes I don’t really get what I’m quizzing him on.”

Altair isn’t satisfied with the answer, of course. He throws Ezio a haughty glare. “You could have asked  _me_ ,” he growls, and as if to prove his worth, he points his wand at the bubbling cauldron. “Evanesco,” he says, and the cursed, shrieking liquid vanishes.

Ezio whistles, impressed. Desmond is aware that Ezio has the toughest time with Vanishment spells, and maybe Altair does bring up a good point.

“Yes,” Ezio agrees, but he draws out the word slowly, ending it with a hesitant and lingering hiss. “But Desmond doesn’t  _yell_  at me when I get a question wrong, or make me run laps around the school when I get a theory mixed up, or make me ‘ _deal with my own mistakes_ ’ when I accidentally turn my arm into a giant sword, or-”

“That was  _one_  time,” Altair interjects, because it sounds like Ezio could make an entire list of grievances. “And I  _did_  try to fix it!”

“Yeah, by making my whole arm vanish! You should have taken me to the hospital wing!” Ezio exclaims. “I was very distressed! You know, with the thing with Malik, I thought-” and he stops, suddenly.

“What?” Desmond asks, interested.

“Nevermind,” Ezio says. He waves a dismissive hand. “You know Altair and Malik. Always flirting with each other.”

They’ve touched on the subject before, usually by accident when Altair slips a few key words about Malik after having too many butterbeers or when Ezio makes an obscure comment, only to shake his head as soon as Desmond asks. Desmond has since given up trying to pry from them, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to ask Malik, or even Kadar, who is a million times nicer than his older brother. (Though, really, it seems that Malik is only ever deliberately mean to Altair, and sarcastic in a good-natured way with everyone else.)

He huffs, stamping down his curiosity, and finds Altair preparing another potion with his brow furrowed in concentration.

“We’re not flirting,” Altair says evenly. He selects a few eagle feathers from the stockpile and begins to float them on top of the potion base.

“Oh. Right. I forget you two are regularly snogging after class now,” Ezio says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” Desmond says, in the same surprised way he did when Ezio announced how he’d finally asked Cristina out for the second time, and that she had actually said yes. He figures that this is a good thing for Altair, since most of the upper-years seem to be so keen about dating and kissing, so he adds a heartfelt, “Congrats.”

And Desmond finds out rather quickly that it was not the right thing to say – Altair’s hand twitches and pretty soon they have another screaming cauldron on their hands, making their ears ring and all three of them to jump. Despite that, Ezio gets his chance to practice the Vanishment spell, which doesn’t exactly work, leaving a small amount of the mixture to whimper in the cauldron, unheard over the shouting argument Ezio and Altair are having.

It’s a noisy, headache-inducing disaster that results in nothing getting done, but when Desmond successfully levitates a chocolate frog into their mouths to get the both of them to  _shut up_ , he decides that he’s quite all right with that.


End file.
